How long is a lifetime?
To Luc, it is eternal. Endless and excruciatingly meaningless. His existence on Earth serves as a punishment for the sins he has committed. Immortality is his shackle.
It would forever be that way if Luc didn't stumble upon...
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*Artwork: Rainy Day by Milosz Wojtasik (https://www.artstation.com/artwork/DLB5E)
This chapter contains mild triggering details for people with suicidal tendencies.
Two large sash windows vibrated with each blow of the wind. A storm was fast approaching the horizon.
By this hour, he should already be at Bessie's brothel or some other alehouse, but tonight was different.
Inside this small, well-furnished office, many empty bottles and papers littered the cherry wood floor. The maid wouldn't come until the morning, but Luc was used to this mess. He sat on his favorite oxblood-colored Windsor chair, one of many fine pieces of furniture in the room, and stared out aimlessly into the night.
He thought about life in general and his long, meaningless one. Not a lot had changed. He was still alone. No friends or family. Not one person in this world, even his right-hand man, knew what he thought or felt—if he felt—half the time. It should be that way. After centuries, Luc had learned to welcome solitude.
The people at Bessie's brothel, which he frequented and would probably head to in a few minutes—his favorite 'home away from home'—were not the exception. The brothel's very existence equally enthralled and disgusted Luc. He could choose any fine leisure establishment uptown that fit his wealth and status, but Luc was drawn to this God-forsaken place for some reason. A garden of cursed beauties, filled with sins, the brothel reminded him of fire and clay, of raw materials mixing in the Mold...
After a long minute of reminiscing, Luc finally got on his feet. He had downed the whole month's worth of alcohol in his cellar. Forty-three barrels, to be exact, were all gone within an hour. They were supposed to be there for the hotel's grand opening. Now, he would have to restock again.
Luc groaned, thinking about the inconvenience, but it was the story of his life. A series of inconveniences. Just as now, when he wanted to get drunk, it didn't happen. All Luc experienced was sluggishness coursing through his body. His thoughts slowed down, but his senses heightened, even more than usual. The memories were ignited all at once, eating him alive.
Sometimes, Luc wondered how much it would take to make him completely lose it. Maybe he had already gone insane.
Recently, Luc had bought a pub. A small but full of potential business just as many others under his name. Everything was handled properly, so Luc supposed it could be a cause for celebration. He didn't need more possessions, but it felt good to have more. Never hurt to expand his ever-growing empire. Luc liked it despite the pointless nature of it all.
Life had been peaceful. It had been months since the last time he'd felt the urge. When the old owner of the pub had crawled on the ground, begging for his life, Luc could've done it. It would've been easy and fun, fueling him for days with cheap excitement, but he had refused to give in to it. The comfort of a kill was a drug, a honey trap that would be nearly impossible to shake off, and Luc knew better. He had learned a lot, believe it or not. Self-awareness was his new weapon. If a kill didn't bring anything besides a fleeting joy, why waste time and energy?
